


trace elements

by ncfan



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Ambiguous POV Character, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:04:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6298369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You'll see something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trace elements

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like writing something weird, so have a weird fic. It's meant to be ambiguous as to which one of them's doing the talking.

The night is clear and cloudless. The moon, tinted gold, lights on stands of gently swaying pines interspersed with low-slung, sprawling juniper trees that give off a sweet, slightly pungent odor; you run your hand lazily over the branches, the dry spines prickling against your palm. Cicadas lurk just out of sight, filling the forest with their chittering hum.

Fireflies float idly by, drifting through the gloomy woods like stars brought down to earth. You remember being very small and thinking that about them, rushing around the yard trying to catch them in your hands. _“Yes, dear, you can put them in a lantern, if you want, but you must remember to let them out soon, or they’ll die. You don’t want that, do you?”_ The light between your fingers glowed like embers with no heat. It passed away quickly, as did many things over the years.

The path takes a sharp turn uphill, and you pick your way past the rocks and tufts of grass that pepper the packed earth. At the crest of the hill the fireflies have gathered in swarms, dancing back and forth. They swirl around you as you walk further up, but you are not a child anymore; you smile slightly, but leave them in peace.

There is a light beyond the hill that puts them all to shame; there are shadows dancing within them, in human form and ayakashi alike, quivering and gesticulating, and the closer you draw to them, the more you hear the hum of voices, drowning out the cicadas.

Tonight, you’ll see if alliances have held or fallen to tatters, you’ll see arguments flare into feuds and feuds to suspicious rapprochement. You’ll hear tell of the latest terrors of the empty places, of threats vanquished. Maybe there will be a few faces missing; it’s been many years since last you saw a new one. You draw yourself up, hold yourself high—this is nothing new, this is what you live for. You’ll see what you can draw from it.

As you’re descending the other side of the hill, your path lit by lanterns, you hear a bright laugh, and freeze.

You think your heart’s stopped, for just a moment. You scan the faces of the ones who linger outside the hall, trying to catch sight of him.

You see no one.

He’s not here. He’s never here, not entirely. There are pieces of him—that laugh, for one, a smile, the prickle of your skin as it had felt when you two stood close together, the flesh memory that’s still keen, even when you’ve not felt that hand since the world was new (Or so it feels like). You’ve not forgotten. The hour is not yet late enough for that.

He’s not here. Neither are you, really. It’s a while since either of you have been here. Something else comes instead.

It doesn’t matter. ( _You feel like he’s watching you, all the time, and he never says a word, and neither do you, when you watch him. Everything hangs in the empty spaces, and you don’t know what shape it might take. You're not sure what he'll do if you banish the empty space between you, if he'll snarl or smile or if he'll just stare right through you, and maybe you should just keep that empty space safely empty._ )

You’ll see something, certainly. You’ll see a ghost, that echoes your words and twists them to other ends, and reflects a distorted image of your own face, and all the while, he’s coming out of his own skin. Soon he’ll not be a ghost, but something else, something new, something you won’t recognize, but you already know, you’d know him anywhere. No matter what he is, no matter how late the hour, you’ll know him. And he’ll know you, no matter how different you are ( _You’re like the images on opposite ends of a mirror; you reflect back at one another, and if he’s changing, so are you_ ).

And when he knows you, you’ll resent him for it, but you’ll both be sharper things, then, and whenever you think of resenting him, you’ll remember his hand on your arm, and you’ll remember that laugh, and you'll remember the way his name sounded on your lips, like he was the only one who had ever called you by name.

This will pass. ( _This won’t pass_. _It’s written in your skin, and it’s the one thing that will never go away, no matter how many times you come out of your skin_.)


End file.
